XMaster of Death
by DanteaDredkin
Summary: Somewhere, (and nowhere), a train pulled to a stop...after six hundred years, Harry Potter decides to take that train that he passed up on so many years ago in the Forrest of Death. He finds himself in a strange white landscape ruled by a being called Truth, who humbly shows his master the way to his Next Great Adventure. Rated for suicide, death, blood, gore, and body horror.
1. Chapter 1

**WARNING: Story is rated for suicide, blood, death, gore, loss of limb in children, body dysphoria, lots of other shit. Language, maybe. The world is kind of a mixture/AU of FMA/FMAB.**

 **Updates will be sporadic. I do what I want.**

 **Read, Review, and Enjoy.**

 **...**

Somewhere, (and nowhere), a train pulls to a stop.

It was a scarlet steam engine; ' _The Hogwarts Express'_ was painted on the side in gold letters. The the trains eye catching colors were a stark contrast to the all white and featureless landscape of its surroundings. This place was characterized only by a single, monolithic black gate and a small white figure sitting in front of it, the only distinguishing characteristic of which was a wide, teeth filled grin.

It's grin only got wider as the train's only passenger stepped off, a man with black hair and green eyes, wearing a sharp black suit with a long shimmering cloak draped over his shoulders. In his left hand he clutched an old wand, and his right hand bore a signet ring, studded with a smooth, but cracked river stone. His name was Harry Potter.

Harry gazed at the land around him. He was here, in this place, having taken that train, because he had...chosen to move on, as it were. He'd found himself in that same train station, as he had so many times before, to once again be greeted by Albus Dumbledore, who upon request had escorted Harry to the only train in station, the Hogwarts Express. The white facade of the train station had been left behind soon after he had departed from the world in which he was born, and instead a blank white landscape stretched away in all directions. The train had traveled for miles and miles, before it had come to a stop in front of the only architecture he had seen sense he'd left death's station.

He stood now in front of a white figure, who was smiling up at him. He was no manner of beast Harry had ever heard of, (and he would know, he got an 'O' in Care of Magical Creatures). It was unnerving though, almost...muggle in it's design, so clean and white. There was nothing so white in the wizarding world. At least it was humanoid.

Harry blinked down at the figure. It was surprisingly...short, though it was hard to tell, with it sitting down.

"Why have you come?" The figure asked. It's voice was multifaceted and echoed with many other voices, but it's main tones sounded almost...childlike.

"Who are you?" Harry asked instead of answering. "What are you?" He corrected himself.

"I am the one. I am the all." The being said, in the cadence of a riddle. "I am the Truth, I am God, I am Death-" Harry twitched. "-and I am you."

"You're death?" Harry asked, his eyes sharp.

"Yes. We've met before." Death said gleefully. "I'll ask again though, what have you come here for?"

Harry's hand tightened around his wand. "I came here...took that train, to find my 'next great adventure' as I have been told it is called. I wanted to...you know, move on. Shuffle off this mortal coil."

"You wanted me." The figure said, sounding surprised. "You wanted Death."

Harry gritted his teeth, but nodded. "Yah." He said. "That. I was hoping, actually-"

"Yes?" Death cajoled.

Harry gulped. "I was hoping I would get to see my family again."

There was a silence. Death hummed thoughtfully. "Unlikely." He finally decided. "But possible. I'm afraid this 'next great adventure' is going to be exactly what it sounds like. And you remember what a 'great adventure' your last life was, don't you?"

Harry grimaced.

The truth was malicious. "There is no going back now." It said. "Only forward. But to pass through my gate takes a toll. And you have nothing to pay it with." Death giggled.

Harry narrowed his eyes. "Aren't I the Master of Death? Isn't that why it took so long for me to get here? Doesn't that title imply I have some control over you? What good is being the Master of Death if I can't even even tell you to let me pass?!"

"Sorry Master." The being said, sounding sarcastic. "But equivalent exchange is important in this part of the multiverse. You have nothing to trade for passage." The Truth didn't sound very disappointed by this fact.

"I have your wand." Harry countered, eyes blazing. "And your cloak and your stone. Don't you want them back?"

"No, no. I wasn't the one who gave those things to your ancestors." Death chuckled. "And besides, I only deal in flesh."

Harry blushed violently.

"No, wait!" Truth flailed his arms comically. "Not like that! That came out wrong! I don't even have sex organs!"

"Then like what?" Harry demanded, voice higher pitched than normal, fists clenched. "What will it take to open this stupid gate of yours?"

Death settled itself down again, it's smile returning. "Let me explain. I'll tell you how people in this world open the gate to my realm."

...

 **Have a sporadic day.**


	2. Chapter 2

**I do what I want.**

 **Read, Review, Enjoy.**

...

"So I can only move forward if someone from that world opens the other side of this gate in a failed attempt to bring someone back from the dead?"

"Yes." The One said, grinning. "Usually it is a homunculus that will slip through the gate during that brief window of time, but I don't see why you couldn't manage to make it through."

"Homunculus?"

"An unborn soul, an idea desperate to be realized, without thought or form that resides as a shadow of humanity in the places between gates." The All explained. "It's actually fairly easy, in this world, to recreate a human body; a little water, salt, some ammonia, a few other trifle ingredients and you've got yourself a mostly human looking thing that might even manage to live for more than a few hours-besides the cost of the toll, the difficult part is in calling back the soul you want. There is no equivalent exchange for a human soul, of course. No problem for you, I'm sure Master; but usually a human trying it will just get a homunculus with vague memories belonging to the person you're trying to resurrect, the homunculus usually ends up inhabiting whatever monstrosity of a body a human could manage to club together. It's come to my attention though, that if you feed a homunculus a multitude of compressed human souls, they will gain human form, but lose their humanity."

"Hm. The next great adventure, indeed. More like next greatest nightmare. This isn't quite what I was expecting when I took that train. And you're not quite what I expected when I pictured Death."

"Oh who's to say what their death will look like?" The Truth said.

"Quite. Tell me then, how often do dark wizards get it into their heads to start raising the dead and feeding them human souls in this other dimension?"

"Hmm? Dark wizards?" God inquired. "I don't know about that, but I get a nock on my door every other decade or so. Of course, they have been getting more frequent, of late."

"Troublesome. And how often do these attempts fail?"

Death grinned. "Every single time."

...

 **Have a nice day.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Read, Review, Enjoy.**

...

The Truth tilted its head, watching the passenger take one last lingering look at the scarlet steam engine. "It will still be here for you, waiting for when you return." It said.

"I know." Harry Potter said wistfully, "I'd just like to get a last look."

He turned away, and the gate opened before him as he strode passed the figure in white. Black hands reached out to welcome him, tearing at the fluttering cloak draped over his shoulders. He raised a hand upon whose fingers rested an old ring, set with a black stone. In this hand he held a withered stick of wood, carved and polished with age. The invisibility cloak, the resurrection stone, and the death stick; the three symbols of his power. The hands retreated as if he burned them, and he walked into the gate unhindered and of his own accord. His body turned to shadow as he went deeper into the Gate, and the hallows disappeared. he became as opposite to the figure of Death as could be, a featureless black shadow, as opposed to a smiling white God, indistinguishable from every other shadowy figure that resided in this place.

The last he heard of Truth or Death or God or whatever his name was, was the faint call of, "Have fun!" Before the gate closed behind him and he existed only in darkness.

...

 **A/N: I hope you enjoy your day.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Read, Review, Enjoy.**

...

They were all darkness here.

Barely a thought, an idea.

But Harry was more than an idea.

The landscape was a trench that went on for eternity in either direction, filled with figures made of shadow, and eyes that were terrible in their alien knowledge.

The darkness wrapped around him, became him, but he did not become the darkness. His mind was his own. He walked for an eternity, or no time at all, and he found that if you looked too closely at this place, you could see the cracks in the universe, the all, the truth. It was enough to drive a man to madness.

It was a good thing Harry couldn't see shit without his glasses, which had disappeared.

He worries though, that the elder wand disappeared upon his entrance as well, and his father's invisibility cloak. And his cloths. His cloths disappeared, too. Would he arrive naked?

He walks, and eventually he finds the exit from this crack between the worlds. There is another gate here, another monolithic structure. Or else, it is the same gate. Who knows, it's easy to get lost here. There is no way to open it from this side, he had been told. He would have to wait until someone opened the gate for him. Death had said they would need to pay a toll to open the gate...that sounded rather nasty. Dark magic.

Harry placed a hand against the gate, trying to sense anything from beyond it. He wasn't the only one. Shadowy figures pawed at the doors, wanting to escape, to take, to _be_. Harry was only one of many, differentiated from other shadows only by his green eyes. He would have to remain vigilant, if he wanted to be the one to make it through the gate, once the toll had been paid. He didn't need food, ever sense he'd taken that train, and he never tired. Perhaps he looked young, but he was not, and he had the patience of an old man.

He could wait.

...

 **Have a fabulous day.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Read, Review, Enjoy.**

...

It wasn't as long a wait as he had assumed.

There were voices on the other side of the door now, screams. The gate cracked open, and black hands reached out around him. On the other side was a pure white world, identical to the one he had left, save for the absence of the train and the addition of a young child.

A boy, blond hair, maybe ten or eleven, on hands and knees before the gate. He was crying, and staring too deeply into the abyss for too long for it to be healthy. The black hands of the unformed homunculus reached out for the boy, and Harry made as if to stop them, but could not pass through the gate the same way the others could. He would not be able to pass the gate until whoever was trying to call back a dead soul had paid the toll.

He knew that death or soul magic that required some sort of sacrifice generally used the sacrifice of a life, and the darkest of rituals used a human life. He had been half expecting, with some trepidation, that he would find that somebody would have to die in order to open the gate and allow him through, but...

But Harry had never imagined someone would be cruel enough to use a child as the toll. Harry thought of his own children when he looked at the boy, though it was long sense they had graduated from Hogwarts and started families of their own, long sense he had cried over their graves. Little Lily, and James and Albus, his two boys; they would always be just little children in his mind, no matter how old they got.

He was beginning to regret his decision to come to this world, faced with the reality of what his passage would cost. If he chose not pass through the gate, would the child's life be spared? Or would the boy's sacrifice only be used to summon some other shadow from this realm, leaving Harry here and the boy's life still forfeit?

The hands of shadows grabbed at the boy, and flakes of flesh colored ash started dissolving from his body, starting at the boy's left leg and stopping just above the knee, and he screamed through all of it. Harry watched helplessly, wishing he had his wand with him, _he needed his wand, damn it!_ But there was one spell...

He could do it wandless, it was such a useful spell, and he'd used it so often, he could cast it with a wave of his hand and a muttered word. And it might work on these things...

He raised his palm, which was just as black and shadowy as everything else in this place, and called up the memory of the first time he'd held one of his children, so tiny...

"Expecto Patronum." He whispered, and the stag burst into light. The other shadowy hands retreated from the light, though the damage had already been done, and the boy was bleeding out by the stump of his leg.

The stag stepped through the gate, and Harry followed it, noticing the barrier that had prevented his passage before was gone now. Was only the boy's leg really enough to pay for passage through the gate? Surely there should have been more taken before he was allowed to pass through. His patronus disappeared as soon as he was cleared the gate's threshold, and the doors closed soon after. He had a sense of foreboding.

The little boy was staring straight through Harry, seeming not to see him, looking blankly right at the impenetrable monolith of the gate.

"No." The boy whispered. His form was growing insubstantial, disappearing. "No!" He shouted. "Al!"

Soon after the bleeding boy disappeared, the shade of Harry Potter did as well.

...

 **Have an interesting day.**


	6. Chapter 6

**WARNING: Chapter rated for mentions of suicide, gore, body horror, and children getting their limbs ripped off by the hands from the black abyss. Also, missing dead family members.**

 **Read, Review, Enjoy.**

...

Disappearing from the realm of death was like falling asleep. Reappearing in the new, living world Harry had come all this way to inhabit was...less pleasant than that.

"No! Bring me my brother back! Al!"

He woke up to a child's screams, first of all. Not the way most people like to be woken up.

" _Get up, Daddy! Mommy's cooking breakfast!"_

 _"Alright baby girl! No need to shout."_

He pushed the memory aside.

Secondly, he wasn't inhabiting his usual body. Which-well, technically he had left his physical body behind when he had died on his earth, only his spirit (soul? mind? consciousness?) had taken the train to get here, taking along only the power of the Deathly Hallows and the idea that he was wearing clothes. He knew, logically, that his body was probably still lying where he had left it, rotting away from a self inflicted killing curse. ( _Don't think about it. It's already happened, he wont regret it now that it's too late. Don't think about it_ ). Yet, somehow he had expected to arrive here as he had left, in a body he had worn all his life, with his mother's eyes and his father's impossible to manage hair. The body that Ginny had loved him in, the body he had hugged his children and grandchildren and great grandchildren in.

That wasn't the body he woke up in.

Inhabiting the...it could technically be called a body, though not the sort Harry would like to inhabit-well, it was sort of gross. And painful. He was pretty sure his ribs were either inside out or upside down, possibly both. His head was _definitely_ upside down. Or else his neck was broken. Or missing. His limbs were on backwards. Some of his organs were on the outside. Some seemed to dissolve halfway through being made. His hair was too long. He was slightly too tall. He couldn't feel his toes. (Probably a good thing.) Breathing was difficult. Who had made this body? It was terrible. What had they expected to accomplish with this?

"Mom?"

He had eyes, at least. They didn't seem to work any worse than his old ones. That kid was there, the one who's leg had been sacrificed to open the Gate. He was looking at him the same way Harry would look at the corpses or his friends or family. And no wonder, he probably looked like the second, uglier coming of Voldemort. And where did all this blood come from? Surely this was too much blood to possibly fit in a single human being, even a full grown male, and he didn't feel like he was bleeding anywhere. He was inside a summoning circle, he noticed. There was something strange about it though, not enough arcane symbols, too much emphasis on mathematical precision and periodic table element symbols. What that meant was escaping him though, as the blood washed away the neat curves and lines. This brain had a difficult time focusing. How was he even thinking? How was he even alive?

Meh. Magic, probably. He'd chalk this one up to magic.

"This is so wrong!" The kid was sniveling again. "Al!"

At least some of the blood on the floor had to be coming from the kid, he was still bleeding out by the stump of his leg. This...was not an easy fix. Harry couldn't help the kid as he was, but it might take a while-a long while-to transfigure this body into something usable without a wand. Why hadn't the Elder wand reappeared? Why had it disappeared in the first place? He was still the master of Death, wasn't he? Surely this body would have died by now if he wasn't. How was he to do magic without a wand?

If he could just transfigure one of his arms working though, the process would be much quicker with gestures and verbal spells. The verbal component though...could he even talk with a body this fucked up?

He pushed that thought aside for a later date and concentrated on transfiguring his right hand, his wand hand, and nearly had the beginnings of fingernails grown in when there was a loud crash. Harry couldn't do more than twitch in surprise.

"Bring him back!"

That kid had somehow managed to hobble his way over to an enormous suit of armor standing against one wall and toppled it to the floor. (Were they in a castle? Hogwarts? It was too dark to tell.) The headpiece had been removed, and the kid was reaching his bloody hand into the armor's body. He looked like he was finger painting.

"Bring Al back!"He shouted, and clapped his hands down on the armor in an explosion of static electricity. Was that wandless Magic? At his age?

From behind the kid, Harry could see black hands reaching out for him again. The kid screamed as his arm dissolved into ashes in the hands of those dark things. Did that kid just try to do the same thing that had taken his leg? Was it the kid who had been trying to bring someone back from the dead?! Was he trying it _again_?! Ambitious little shit. Dark stuff he was meddling in. Harry would bet money this kid was slytherin. Or stupid. It would explain why this body was so shitty though, if it was made by a ten year old. And boy was that kid paying for it, he was screaming so much. There was nothing Harry could do this time, though. Maybe he could do a wandless pratronus to ward off those black hands, but not without the mnemonic and a hand gesture, at the very least. And performing any spell wandless while in as much pain and discomfort as Harry was in now, much one as complex as the patronus charm, was nearly beyond thinking about. There was something in Harry that simply _died_ at listening to a little kid screaming as he was ripped limb from limb and was unable to do anything about it. If he ever met that Death again, they would be having words, Harry decided. He was firm in his conviction, but helpless to act on it.

The little blond brat fell forward and passed out.

Damn stupid kid was on his own, this time. He would bleed out soon.

Harry went back to attempting to transfigure himself some fingernails, channeling his rage into his magic. He suddenly realized though, that the skin on that hand was inside out, and he should probably fix that before he started making fingernails on the wrong side.

This was going to take a while.

...

 **Have a beautiful day.**


	7. Chapter 7

**This whole 'have MOD Harry be reborn in FMA in the body Ed and Al made in the beginning' story is turning out to be way more traumatizing and horrific than I expected it to be. I kinda just want to look at myself right now and say " _Damn_."**

 **Well, I hope you guys enjoy it anyway.**

 **Read, Review, Enjoy.**

...

Harry was taking a break for a moment, mostly just laying there while his organs throbbed in the open air, in incredible agony, feeling sorry for himself and regretting his life choices.

And then the suit of armor moved.

Which was not so surprising to him actually, having grown up in Hogwarts. What _was_ surprising was that the suit of armor also _talked_.

"Brother?"

Shit, did that little snot cast an intelligence level animation on that suit of armor? Again _wandlessly_? Harry couldn't have done that even with a wand, and he'd been a wizard damn near six hundred years; Hermione would be horrified to know he hadn't spent that time studying. ( _Don't think about it. Don't think about her. Don't._ ) He remembered the little kid finger painting on the inside of the armor's torso, (Ruins?), and then a flash of light, before the black hands had come to tear the kid's arm off. Did he sacrifice his limb for an _animation spell_? This kid was dumb.

"Brother?!"

The armor's voice sounded really young, even younger than the blond brat looked, and scared out of his wits to boot. Harry had the sinking suspicion this wasn't an animation spell. The armor was looking at the remains of-of _his brother_ with something akin to horror. How could an unmoving helmet express horror with no face to express it with? Harry would chalk another one up to magic. After listening to the limbless wonder shouting for his brother so often and so shrilly, Harry was willing to bet this kids name was 'Al'.

"Al." A voice croaked suddenly. Harry jerked so violently he would have shit himself if this body had eaten anything recently. Holy shit, limbless wonder was still alive. The voice was faint, but definitely present, and also confirmed Harry's guess as to the armor/boy's name. Harry could hardly believe this kid was still alive. Or that the ears on this body actually worked, and oh god, he was getting a crick in his neck. His nose itched. Somehow, this seemed even more unbearable than all his other pains.

"Did it work, brother?" The armor asked plaintively.

"Don't look at it, Al." He was weak, but insistent. "It isn't her. It isn't human."

Harry twitched. Was that little shit talking about him? Rude. Where was this kid's mother? She needed to teach him some manners. And to stay way from Dark Magic. This kid needed his mouth washed out, or some shit. Fuck it, Harry didn't know what mothers were supposed to do, you could only learn so much from Mrs. Weasley's secondhand mothering. ( _Ginny was a good mother, a great mother. He didn't know what he would have done without her. Probably fucked the kids up something awful. They'd probably swear and drink fire whiskey, like Harry does a lot these days. They did drink fire whiskey actually, at his daughter Lily's wedding. Why were all these memories poping up all of a sudden?!)_

"Mom?"

And there was that question again, in a little child's voice, _Mom?_. And the armor/kid was looking at him, just like limbless had when he'd asked the same question. Why did they think Harry would be their mom?

 _'Because they'd been trying to raise their mom from the dead, you moron, but they got your sorry pale ass instead!'_ He directed the thought at himself. He almost felt bad for a moment, they had paid a hefty toll trying to get their mother back, but Harry had taken her place in a selfish desire to...he didn't even know what he had hoped to accomplish here. A picture came together in his mind, of two talented little boys, brothers, who wanted their mom back, didn't understand the dangers of Dark Magic, didn't realize what they were doing would only hurt themselves and others and if they had succeeded to any degree, their mom as well. _I didn't steal her place._ Harry thought angerly, directed at that little nugget of guilt. _Death said it himself, resurrections never truly work. If I hadn't come through that gate when they paid the toll, then some other shadow being-homunculus-would have, not their mom._ Harry shuddered at the thought of one of those empty, grasping, limb-stealing shadow beings inhabiting this absolute horror show of a body, instead of himself, left alone in a room with two traumatized little boys. Well actually, Harry being here isn't helping them much either, but at least he won't try to eat them or something, who knows what a shadow thing would do to them if they had let one through.

"Mom! Oh god." The armor made a sound of distress, then began retching; though of course, he could only mime the motions and sounds of sicking up.

"We have to get out of here." The boy named Al whispered. His voice gained strength. "I have to get you out of here! You'll die, brother!"

The other boy, apparently either passed out or already dead, failed to answer. There was the sound of clanking metal.

"My body." The boy whispered. "What happened to-my body?" The armor/boy shook its head. "I have to get brother to Winry's!"

What _did_ happen to armor/boy's body? Why had the stupid one attached his brother's-soul? consciousness?-to the armor? Was it a horcrux now? Should Harry be worried about this?!

The armor that had apparently once been a boy knelt over the prone form of his brother, so large in comparison he looked like a vulture looming over the pale, limbless boy. He picked the body up gently, but hurried when he turned to leave. He passed out of Harry's field of vision, and the wizard saw no more trace of the boys who had allowed him into this world after the sound of clanking footsteps on stone stairs faded off.

Gee, thanks Al. What was he, chopped liver? They summon a powerful spirit from another dimension to inhabit this shitty, _pain wracked_ , and yes-he suddenly noticed-very _naked_ body, and they just leave him on their basement floor? This was a horror movie waiting to happen. He should haunt them just on principle. Maybe he will. Later. When he has fingernails. Or working joints. Or can move without bleeding.

He hoped those two idiots didn't suddenly decide to do something sensible and come back to kill him, like Harry would have if he'd ever been stupid enough to summon some ungodly death body creature. He wasn't holding his breath though, so he probably still had time.

Not enough time, though. With a body like this...Harry was going to need time. A lot of time. With a body like this...

Well, he _needed_ to get his original body back.

(Harry had the strangest premonition that he was going to hear that phrase a lot.)

...

 **Have today be better than yesterday.**


	8. Chapter 8

**This story is funnier and more traumatizing than I intended it to be, but I've decided I'm not sorry.**

 **Also, why does my Harry curse so much?**

 **Read, Review, Enjoy.**

...

He thought about what he could do if he had his wand. He thought about how he would throttle those kids when he found them. He thought about his disappointment. He thought about how he'd hoped there would be some sort of afterlife at the end of that train ride, where his family would be, asking him what had taken him so long. Asking him why he was there so soon. ( _A flash of green light_.) You really have to mean it when you cast an unforgivable. You have to want it.

He thought about nothing at all.

It was a few hours later, after he had thoroughly exhausted himself making fingers that bent in the right direction, that there was a sound like a heavy wooden door creaking open. Footsteps, too, on creaky stairs and then wooden floorboards.

It was a woman.

An older woman, who walked slowly and had wrinkles upon wrinkles, but none of aged lines on her face were the kind you get from laughing a lot or smiling too much.

"You poor thing." She crooned at him. "Let's get you fixed up." Her words were warm, but her eyes cold.

She prodded at his mouth, something red and gleaming in her hands, and tried to slip it passed his teeth. He couldn't tell what it was behind the taste of blood and agony, a pill maybe. He spit it out, and tried to bite the woman. She snatched her hand back and hissed. Harry attempted to ward her off with his hands, but only succeeded in hurting himself with his thrashing.

"I'm trying to help you, dear." He could hear her teeth grinding. It pleased him immensely to hear it. "Eat this," she continued, "-and your form will stabilize. You'll look human, be able to walk and talk and run. Come on dear, open up."

Look human?

 _"-if you feed a homunculus a multitude of compressed human souls, they will gain human form, but lose their humanity."_

Death had said that. He'd said a homunculus was a body that was made by a dark wizard in an attempt to raise the dead, (a body like the one Harry now possessed), inhabited by one of the unformed souls from beyond the gate, inhabited by one of those shadowy hands (as this body would have been, if Harry had not been the first one through the gate once the toll for the dark magic had been paid). The resulting combination of shadow and flesh was called a homunculus, and if you fed a homunculus human souls, they would look human, but lose their humanity. (Question: did those shadow things have any humanity to begin with? Harry had watched them tear a kid's arm off, after all.) So this woman thought Harry was a homunculus because his body was made by death magic, and she was trying to put something in his mouth that tasted like death and would 'make him look human'.

She grew frustrated with his continued insistence on resisting her attempts to poison him. She leaned back and eyed him speculatively.

Those kids hadn't been evil or dark or trying to create something that looked human but wasn't; they were just...stupid, and missed their mom. Ignorant, dangerous, but not evil. The children could not rightfully be called evil. The step in that process that made it evil was the part were you started ripping people's souls out and feeding them to undead monsters. Ergo, the evil one in this situation was the one trying to feed him human souls. (Which strangely tasted like rock?)

Harry would bet money that the old woman trying to shove evil down his throat was behind the kid's attempt to dabble in necromancy. She probably "accidentally" left an evil book out were the brats would find it right after their mom died, gave prodigious, grieving kids desperate ideas. (Because where else are ten year old's going to learn how to raise the dead, the family library? Only a total moron leaves those kinds of books where your children can find them; it had to be the evil witch maliciously trying to corrupt children, no one was stupid enough to leave those kinds of books where just anyone can find them.) That bitch might have even killed the brat's mom herself, just to give them a reason to attempt necromancy so she didn't have to pay the toll herself. The orphans die making a homunculus, and she swoops in to turn the result into a caricature of a human being that would probably obey her every whim. What a bastard.

"Oh of course," She said, in a tone that seemed to be trying to put him at ease. "allow me to introduce myself. My name is Dan-" -who gives a fuck.

She was still muttering nonsense, she had been looking him over like a fresh cut of meat ever sense his weak attempts to ward her off. She looked at him with pursed lips and a calculating eye. Harry stared back, body twitching to move but lacking the energy and physiology to do so. Damn he wanted his wand back. His eyes met her's. It would be really nice to be a master legilimens right about now.

It suddenly clicked in his mind. This was the dark one. The evil one in this story. The orphan maker. The Voldemort. _A flash of green light. A woman screaming._ She needed to die. All that had happened to those boys had happened because of her. She had to die. This-this was what Harry was born to do. There were four spells he could do wandlessly. The summoning charm, lumos, the patronus spell, and one other, but that one...

Even on a good day with a half decent wand, casting that spell would require incredible amounts of concentration to control. While incredibly easy to cast, attempting it now, in his current condition, it would be nearly impossible to control. Undoubtedly, Harry would die as well as the witch. But those boys...what if she decides to tie up loose ends?

"Are you going to turn out to be Sloth or Wrath, then? Those are the only two unaccounted for..."

Fuck this bitch. Why is she still talking? Why is he still listening to her talk? Harry is the master of _fucking_ death, dying costs him nothing and killing this bitch will doubtlessly save those two boys from a world of hurt.

He reached out his hand, with his newly bendable fingers, tightened a hold around her skirt and concentrated on his hatred, _ **how dare this fucking bitch**_ ; focusing so hard it hurt, it **burned**. Fiendfyre leapt from his hand, racing up the old hag's clothes and clawing at her face. For her, the fiendfyre took on the forms of wailing, indistinguishable faces, human faces crying out in misery and clawing at her skin. She struck him on the head and jumped back, hissed, pawing at herself. Things blurred a little when his skull hit concrete. Red lightning flashed at her fingertips and around her body, like a crucio, but fiendfyre was born to eat dark spells and cursed artifacts. The very lightning burned. She began shrieking, her body jerking and flailing without her control, and then she was on the ground, rolling around in agony as lightning and fire burst around her. Her insides were red, but wrong. No blood or organs burned inside her; she was full of only that color, curse red, glowing red the color of red stones. Whatever her insides were made of though, they still burned just as well as anything else did under fiendfyre. She shrieked and flailed far longer than any mortal human should have, long passed the point most people would have died.

She didn't stop moving until her entire body was streaks on the floor, until every speck of red light had been consumed by fiendfyre.

And with no more flesh to feed it, the fire turned it's attention to the concrete below it. It followed the blood on the floor like normal fire would follow gasoline, crawling like cockroaches.

It followed the blood, and Harry was covered in it.

This is the day that Harry Potter learns that killing yourself with fiendfyre is even less fun than killing yourself with an avada kedavra. There is fire, not enough air in the world to scream, and then there is death.

...

And then there is Death, grinning at him as it sits in front of a black gate in an unformed white landscape.

...

 **Have an ubiquitous day.**


End file.
